


And Every Day He Put It Back

by DidYouSayHeadlightFluid (Kiki_The_Marauder)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: PTSD John, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Season/Series 01, Short, Suicidal John, Suicidal John Watson, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-24 16:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13815243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiki_The_Marauder/pseuds/DidYouSayHeadlightFluid
Summary: Every day, John Watson thought about killing himself. Most days, he got very very close to actually doing it.(Huge trigger warning here. Please seek help if you are thinking about suicide. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (in the US) can be reached at any time at 1-800-273-8255 or online at https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org)





	And Every Day He Put It Back

**Author's Note:**

> Im putting another trigger warning in. This is a short drabble I wrote while doing research for a project on PTSD and depression. In this, John is horribly depressed and comes very close to suicide. Please tell somebody if you are struggling with depression or suicidal thoughts.

John lay still in bed for a long time, staring up at the beige ceiling under the faded blue blanket before finally placing his feet down on to the brown carpet. He got himself to the bathroom to brush his teeth, shower, and shave, and then he got dressed in tan trousers and a blue and white checkered shirt. He limped across the tiny room again and sank down in the desk chair. He sighed heavily as he adjusted his leg and opened the desk drawer, pulling out a sleek brown box and placing it on top of the desk. His fingers opened it and took out the contents without him being fully aware. He took the gun out of the case, loaded a single bullet in to the chamber, and placed the barrel end on the gun in his mouth. Every day, he did this. Every day, his mornings began with this whole routine. He always ended up here, tasting the metal and feeling his breath slowly warm the weapon. Each breath could easily be his last. All it took was a little tug of the trigger and it would be over. Gone. He would have no worries and no pain. A solution. A way way to fix everything. His tongue moved freely around the bitter metal and he took a deep breath, switching off the safety. Most days, he reached this point. One step closer to bliss. There were only two more steps after this, and then it would be over. He let everything he cared about rush through his mind and he realized... it was virtually nothing. His friends were dead. His sister was always so drunk, she wouldn't be able to identify his body with a bullet through his head. He had nothing but this tenement and a bad leg. He placed his finger over the trigger. This step was more rare. He trembled. His tongue moved more rapidly around the barrell. Every day he put this gun in his mouth and thought about killing himself.

And every day he put it back.


End file.
